My hands and heart are full
by thisisnotmybeautifulhouse
Summary: ... I just have a few pieces missing: It isn't any easier the second time around. Warning for character death and non-explicit physical intimacy.


**I managed to make myself cry while writing this, though part of that is almost definitely down to sleep-deprivation. The first half came to me when I was trying like a very desperate thing to get back to sleep so that I would actually be able to get some studying done the next day, and I wrote the second half tonight.** **Eventually, I might get around to writing the scene where the death actually happens, but for now, this is all that will be written for this fic.** **This is as close to writing smut as I will ever get, and it isn't actually smut at all, so... I hope that part doesn't disappoint?**

* * *

It isn't any easier the second time around.

Part of it is the fact that he is the one who must make all of the arrangements this time. The other part is knowing that he is the only one left who remembers that his mother used to drink Earl Grey with two teaspoons of sugar and far too much milk in the mornings, and that she couldn't sing her way out of a paper bag, that although his dad claimed he hated Grape Nuts, they always ran out before Stiles could get to the grocery store on Saturday morning, and that he always sung John Mellencamp songs in the shower.

It isn't any easier, but it is different, because last time he only had his dad and Scott, and when she wasn't at work, Mrs. McCall, and this time he has Derek and the rest of their pack. Derek, who puts his hand on his waist every time the scent of grief becomes stronger in his nose, who helps deal with the insurance crap that makes him want to scream, who lets him do and be and feel and think whatever he needs, because he has been there, and more than anyone else, he gets it.

When the guilt threatens to steal all of his air, when he wonders why he is the one who is still here, Derek tells him about being sixteen and stupid, sixteen and in love, sixteen and broken. He tells him about Kate Argent with her bedroom eyes and her wicked grin, and hearing her voice in his sleep taunting him along with the stench of smoke and burning flesh for years after. He tells him that the sheriff's death was different, that he died in the best way possible, protecting his town and his son, and nothing could have stopped him.

For once, Derek is the one who fills the silence and Stiles the one who listens.

When the pre-dawn light filters into their room on the the day of the funeral, Stiles is already awake, staring at the deep blue curtains he helped Derek choose last autumn, when the remodeling of the Hale house was finally finished. He has not slept, hasn't wanted to think about what he must do in not enough hours. He still doesn't. Pulling his eyes away from the only source of light in what he affectionately refers to as The Cave, he swallows quietly and turns his head on his pillow, gaze inevitably falling on his mate.

He knows the instant Derek feels his attention, sees the return of energy to previously pliant limbs. Stormy eyes open, sweeping languidly across the planes of his face. They take in the signs of his sleeplessness, of his silent desperation, and the skin around them tightens anew in what has become a near-constant expression of concern since the night Stiles collapsed with his dad dead in his arms. "What can I do?" He does not ask what Stiles needs, nor why he could not sleep. To do so would be pointless, would be so much salt in the wound.

He holds out his hands, and knows they will be filled. He pulls them towards his body, and knows his need will be answered.

They take it slow. Derek keeps one hand in his throughout, and he asks for nothing; he simply gives. He wipes the tears that trail down pale cheeks with a gentle thumb, and he holds Stiles in the moment with a loving stare.

Stiles finishes with a sigh, Derek following quietly, easily after.

For a short while, Stiles sleeps, and it is not at all peaceful, but for now, it is enough.

The funeral is simple, but almost the entire town is present, and it is fitting, Stiles thinks, that so many people would show their love and respect for the man who gave everything he had to keeping them safe, even if they did not always know _what_ he was keeping them safe from. Especially then.

He makes it through the condolences and the consolations by the grace of Derek's arm around his back and the rest of the pack surrounding them, and sees in this united front the echoes of what their future will be, and knows without a doubt that his dad would be proud of how they have all come together.

It isn't any easier, but it happens, and he survives, because he may have lost his dad, but Derek and the others are here, and this time he knows that he will never have to be alone.

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**If you want to contact me with a query, a quote, a quip, or a quibble, I now have a tumblr page, which you can find here: blog/pixiethisisnotmybeautifulhou se**


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